


Tarnished Rose

by TottWriter



Category: Guild Wars
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Flash Fic, Gen, Grief, Morally Ambiguous Character, One Shot Collection, gunslinger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4044484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TottWriter/pseuds/TottWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lone gunslinger nurses a tankard in Lion's Arch. Beneath their wide-brimmed hat lie cold, dark eyes, and a story to tell. </p><p>This is a collection of individual stories which are all mostly self-contained. I may add more as time goes by, but they all work as-is. Kind of a Western vibe to the whole thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tarnished Rose

They say I'm not much like my old self, these days. Well I'm damned if I care for what they think of me, now or then. When you've seen the things that I have...there's something wrong with you if you haven't changed.

It was the curiosity that did it for me, you know. Huh, I guess you could call it a stereotype, but I poked my nose in one too many places, and these days I consider myself lucky to still have the damn thing attached to my face. War and death changes you; makes you hard, makes you tough. And we need to be tough, because those battles aren't going away for a long time.

My first battle was on the Tarnished Coast. The undead were massing along the shore, and we fought them back. I'd seen fighting before. Many times in fact, but this was my first time up close; my first time claiming lives. The cut and thrust of their onslaught was brutal, or so the others said. I was more _curious_ , you might say. These creatures weren't alive, weren't people, and their borrowed bodies made interesting sounds as the combatants shot and hit and mauled them to a final oblivion.

It was the aftermath that was hard, really. Sure, most of the remains were those of the undead, but plenty enough people had fallen on the field as well. They just lay there, all the life gone out of them. Some had eyes closed, others eyes open, but all of them had a look of horror on their faces. They echoed in my mind for weeks afterward. But as I say, I was different then. Weaker, I suppose.

I get some strange looks now and then, too. Mostly from the people who shake their heads and tell me I've changed. Well, once you've changed there's no going back, so I don't see why they keep going on about it. And so what if I smoke, and drink, and take risks? There's nothing like that big hit when you pull off something big, something dangerous, and for a moment, you feel something good.

But those people don't see that. They just see me sat in the corner of whatever dive I've rolled up at, my boots all dusty and my trousers worn. They see the guns at my hips and the long leather coat at my back and, well. I guess I just don't fit the picture someone put in their head of what a sylvari ought to look like. Because you know, they sure don't give the other hard folk sitting nearby the same kind of look as they give me.

And you know, sometimes I get tired of it all; of all the standards and expectations these people have of each other, when out there they all die just the same. A bullet to the head and they'll drop, be they flesh or plant. Maybe you just have to see the bodies on the pyre a few more times, and look at the ashes left behind. Because when all's said and done, when we're gone, that's the only thing that'll be left. Dust, not too different to the stuff on my heel.


	2. Recollections: Part the First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recollections of love, loss... and vengeance.

I was “home” again, as home as I ever get. Back at the grove, where at least the Mother Tree doesn't judge me, even if everyone else does. Passing through, from killing things south of the Grove to head out and kill things further north. Time for some new foes, some new battlefields. The churned up earth and the pyres just fascinated me then.

She was there, as I made my way along the path. Sat by a pool of water with her back to me. Pale, white-blue leaves, and delicate, so delicate. There was this, this feeling about her – it filled the air nearby, so calm and sweet and pure. I stopped walking. Heck, I couldn't help myself, I walked right up to her and asked her name.

“Ifanwy,” she said, not even looking round. And then – and she still hadn't looked at me you know – she said: “You've come a long way to reach me.” She turned round then, and her eyes... There was no judgement there, just something else, something I didn't understand then and still don't, not really. She never did tell me what she was thinking that day. I still wish I'd asked.

She took me as I was though. Never did judge me, even though we were like night and day. Even her skin was soft - soft and smooth from her youth and her life, all of it spent under the branches of the Tree.

We used to sit and share our memories, talk about what we'd seen, and what we thought. Well, I guess I did most of the talking. I was six years old by that point, and she barely one. I'd seen battle, and other races, and roamed the lands around that part of the world, and she had spent her time tucked in the safety of the Grove, learning and helping those who came and went. But she was never as sweet with the others as she was with me. She never gave them that look in her eyes, or held them close, not moving, not speaking. Just standing there, arms wrapped round me, head on my shoulder.

I used to watch her as she patched them up, those travellers who came home sick or injured. Once or twice it was me getting the poultices and bandages, but even though she never understood why I went out there, put myself in harms way, she never asked me to stop. Never asked me what I was doing. Never looked down on me, neither.

She was my hope for the world, there waiting for me back home after the blood and the death and the fires. But I was a damned fool. Oh, I told her what I did—how I mowed down the undead with bullets and blade; how it was kill or be killed; how it was dangerous. But she...She never understood all that. She never got hardened to it like I had, never got used to the constant watch you put up for a threat, the way your senses sharpen to danger until you can smell it on the air.

She just followed me one day, and like the fool I am I didn't make her go back. Of course they got her. They were hot on her trail the moment she left the shade of the Pale Tree. Someone as sweet and bright as her, how could they damn well resist? I should have made her turn round, walk right back into that Grove, and damn the argument. But, I could never be hard around her. She brought out that last little softness in me, the light and the joy, and I loved her for it.

They knocked me on the head first. Took my guns, took my knives, tied me good and fast. It was half over by the time I woke, anyway. She would never have been the same. But they weren't done. They're not like anything else. Not like battle. In battle, you go straight for the kill. You finish one, then then next; you're a machine, killing without thought until there's only one side left. You don't play around with death, drawing it out, making them scream, making them weep. Ain't how a person ought to be.

I snapped. Nothing was going to hold me down, not even the ropes around my wrists. Not even the pain as my hands were scraped and battered by pulling them from the knots, and from loosening the bonds around my legs so I could move.

He never saw me coming - never saw until I grabbed my gun and cocked the trigger. Turned round just in time to see who did for him. Just like I got there in time to hold her as she died. I think she smiled there, right at the end. But she didn't speak. She never got a chance to say those last words people talk about. Just died in my arms as I reached her, before I even managed to say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the off chance that it's too ambiguous: yes, it is the Court that Agrona is referring to.


	3. Recollections: Part the Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On thrills, thievery, and unwanted consciences.

I've done bad things, so they say. Those...those _abominations_ tried to collar me once, bring me into their perverted fold. Told me: all the things I did wrong, I musta belonged with them. And I've heard those who don't know what to think about me, some days. I kill. I drink and I smoke and I've screwed. And yeah, I steal. They look at me, and they see my deeds, and they think they see a fit.

But I ain't one of them, and I never will be. I do what I do because I need to. I fight someone, I'll kill 'em quick. No one suffers. Not even Them, because that's what they damned well want. No. Them I take from behind when I can. Put them down before they can do any more damage. And I'm cold. I don't get no sick pleasure from my duty. I don't try and make that go back to the Pale Tree, to our mother. I cut myself off, much as I can. Soundless, they call me. Though I don't fit with them, either.

I take my pleasure where I'm able. There's not all that much that cheers me these days, but there you go. It's the price we all pay for getting strong enough to bear the hard times. And you've gotta be strong. You're nothing if you can't take the times we've got. I learned that one. I made my choice, to be hard, and if I didn't know what that meant losing at the time, well. We're all young once. We all do things we regret.

The doll, now, that was bad. I can see that now. Course, at the time it was another thrill ride, a test. That big old house, high in the human city, so lit up and pretty inside. It was nothing to climb up the creepers and hang from the balcony. Nothing to be hidden while they talked above me, clinging on below like just another one of the plants they had growing there. In a way, I was. 

They slipped inside after a time, closing the door. That was my chance. I swung up onto the stonework, landing lightly. I always took my boots off for jobs like this. You only need them to fit in, anyway. The door was closed, but not locked. I could hear them talking in that hall of theirs. Money, guards, the usual human stuff. I looked around for another way in. If they had guards, so much the better.

There was a window up above, the next floor up from the balcony. All that fancy woodwork made it a piece of cake to get up there and look in through the shutters. Seemed to be some kind of bedroom. Least, there was a bed, and a chest at its foot, and a chair and a dresser. I knew what bedrooms looked like by then, though I'd never been fussed about having one myself.

The shutter was barred, but what's a bar to a thief? A dagger between the two shutter panes and that bar was lifted, nice and silent-like. I slipped into the room like a shadow, poking and peeping in the corners. The bed was big, had them drapes that rich humans like so much. I paid it no notice, not at first. The dresser had combs and brushes laid out for the morning, with a round mirror set in a silver handle. She would have liked it, I remember thinking. 

I left it there. I wanted to see what was in the chest. If I'd thought it would be gems I was let down. Just toys. Wooden figures, miniature furniture, the like. I shook my head, and looked up at the bed. Well, wouldn't you know it, there was someone sleeping in it. A small someone. I'd not seen children close up before, so I went to take a look. 

It was a girl, or looked like one. Long hair, tied in knots with ribbons, and the sweetest little look on her face. There was a doll sitting on the pillow near her head, hair as brown as the girl's own, hanging in miniature ringlets. This doll, it had a rich dress on; dark and white and trimmed with lace. I couldn't help it, I had to see it better. I reached over and picked it up. That girl never so much as stirred. I carried it over to the window, but it was dark that night. 

So I took it. I wanted to see it in the light; see the colour, see how it was made. I wrapped it secure against myself, and climbed back out the window, dropping the bar over the shutters with my dagger. Silently, all the way to the ground, and then back to the Inn.

It was a pretty thing, I could tell that much, but I'd no notion of anything more than that. I saw how the arms and legs moved, but what could it do? Not as much as I had thought. It bored me. And then, the next morning when the news broke, all kinds of problems rained on down. 

Turns out the girl was a noble, and her folk were important types, not best pleased to find that someone had been in her room the night before and taken what turned out to be something the little girl loved. I got back to the Inn quick as I could without drawing notice, and looked at the thing. It was nothing special. But they'd said she loved it, and I'd taken it away. 

She'd been gone a couple of years by then, but I knew what She'd say. It stung, that after all that time Her voice could still be there with me. I didn't want that reminder there. Had to get rid of it. And you know, it was harder getting back in that night, when the guards were actually doing their job for a change, but that buzz, the thrill of danger? Well. I'd forgotten about Her by the time I reached the window. It was all about the challenge.

This time it was all lit up like a party. I hung low, and I could see there was no getting in. But how was a child to sleep like that? No, they had her somewhere else. And it was the girl that She would want me to return the doll to. Not the room. 

I scouted around. Sure enough, on the other side of the house, a darkened room – a way in, at least. I got closer, peeped in, and couldn't believe my luck. There she was, lying in a bed, the same girl. I was wary, of course. The shutters had let me see in, but they showed only a small window of the room. I listened hard, and heard movement. Someone else there. 

It was tricky. I had to return the doll, put an end to Her voice. I didn't want it eating away at me; I wasn't going to let anything eat away at me again. Besides. There was no fun in backing out now. I thought, and hung a line from the eaves of the roof so I could hang above the window. Then I lifted the shutter, slow and silent like, whipping the dagger out and the shutters open at the last second. Sure enough, a head popped out of the window, and down went my dagger's hilt. Out cold. 

I waited a full minute, but there was no more movement. Carefully I got in through the window. It was a woman I'd hit. She looked a little like the girl, as I dragged her back inside and propped her in a chair. But she was older. A few streaks of grey in her hair. I wasted no more time on her. 

The doll I placed beside the girl. Pristine, it was. I left a note too, because it's what She would have wanted. It said “sorry”. Nothing more. Then I fled, before I got seen. I heard they burned the doll though. I don't know why. And I never wanted that.


	4. Recollections: Part the Third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On cities, and their attractions.

I don't talk about Her much these days. Don't do no good bringing up the past. But you have to talk sometimes, even just to show you can. That it doesn't dig away inside, making you weak. I'm not getting lost in that muck again. 

I did things I regret, after. Hunted down those abominations for a while – put bullets in heads and dodged those that the ones I missed sent back at me. But it didn't bring Her back, and I lost the will to keep it up. And I wasn't going to let them get me. No, if I have to go, it won't be for their gain. I went north, away from the forests, away from other sylvari. I took to wearing boots and coats and trousers. You fit better when you dress like the locals, and I didn't want that kind of trouble. 

I was just looking, then. Looking for something to do, something to feel. I'd had months of nothing in the Grove; months of hurt turning into a dark, numb feeling in my gut and my heart. I wasn't soft enough for them – they wanted me softer, to talk, to cry. To share. But I wasn't going to be weak. That wasn't what She had loved about me.

The human city kept me for a while. All stonework and colour, so much to see and do. The rush of awe was intoxicating at first, but it died quick. Too quick. I needed something else. I wanted something to feel that wouldn't make me weak. 

It was an accident, the first thing I took. I picked up a trinket from a stall and no one was watching, and then the keeper called me a thief as I was looking at it. Guess I must have panicked, because I ran. I was still wound tight, those days. Reflexes can trick you at times if you're not on top of them. 

But it was a thrill. It was a feeling, and it was real, and it was good. She wouldn't have approved, no. But She couldn't see me now. She wasn't there with that face and those eyes, and I wasn't going to let Her be, either. I was going to do as I damned well pleased for a while.

Climbing high and balancing on narrow spots got me a rush, but they were harder to come by, and the looks were funny. Got hauled before Seraph a couple of times for “disturbing the peace”. What did they know, anyway. 

But I tried anything in those days, and though stealing wasn't my first choice, it kept coming back to that. I needed the money, at any rate. I wasn't earning anything by climbing buildings unless I took home a souvenir. I tried the other ways, the ones some of the women told me worked for them. But if humans look strange in their clothes they look stranger without them and it left me cold. I had other ways of earning coin to fall back on. Ones which actually felt good. 

After the doll, Divinity's Reach felt dried up to me, so I left for Lion's Arch. Now there's a city made for thrills. Plenty of drinking, plenty to see and climb. They talk about 'drowning their sorrows' in the dives and the fleapits, but I don't drown in the booze. I float on it, riding that wave of numbness for a while until I crash back down and start over. It sure isn't perfect, but it'll do. 

And in a city with so many problems, it's not hard to earn coin, either. Plenty of dangerous jobs need doing. Plenty of monsters to kill. That rush of danger is just around the corner, and it keeps suckering me back in. So you can keep your judgement; your funny looks and those snide remarks. At the end of the day, when trouble comes knocking it's me who's out there on the battlefield. I might not meet those high standards some people have, but I'm tough enough to get by. And when the world goes to pieces, that's what's gonna count.


End file.
